The Winepress

by Christine Beals

As the summer wore on, the old Resort, robbed of its superstitions and the evil hold its uncanny tales had had upon the minds of the people, stood forth erect in the midst of cultivated grounds. The babble and chatter of children's voices echoed through it and exorcised the last remaining trace of evil that may have lingered there.

It had been somewhat difficult to induce the women whose children attended the school to plant and care for the garden lots, and their somewhat reluctant consent to do this was given more as a favor to Mrs. Thorpe than from any interest in the work. But he who cultivates Nature becomes interested in spite of himself. And as the brown seeds quickened and sent forth their little flame of life and developed into vigorous plants, each after its kind, the flame of Truth and Immortality in the hearts of the workers revived and grew and expanded.

The goddess Ceres vied with the Bacchus of the Flat and in a measure was the winner. In the cool of the summer evenings, when the day was slipping away and the earth prepared her bath of cooling dew, men, vicious-faced and with bloodshot eyes and unkept hair and beards, had been wont to take themselves to the dens of vice and quaff the cup in which the hissing serpent lurks; but now there was another attraction on the Flat. The owners of the garden lots would gather around the old Resort in the evenings to dig and weed and hoe, and the men fell into the way of strolling over to view the work of their wives' hands, and before the summer was over there was not a place on the Flat more popular than this. And sometimes a man whose heart was not all bad would take the rake and hoe and assist in the work. And then there were some whose memories took them back to boyhood days on the old farm, before the Evil One came with his false promises of pleasure.

Sometimes Mrs. Thorpe would induce the parents to come into the schoolroom and she would show them the work that their children were doing; and sometimes she would talk to the mothers about the care and management of their children and of their homes, and other subjects of interest; and then sometimes in passing their houses she would see that a window had been cleaned and a curtain, or perhaps a clean newspaper answering the place of a curtain, had been put up; or perhaps she would observe that some rubbish pile had been removed, or that a walk had been cleaned, and as she noticed these small improvements she felt that she had received her reward, and went on her way with strengthened purpose.

Mrs. McGowan so far recovered her health and her eyesight that she was able to take the greater share of the household cares upon herself, thus leaving Mrs. Thorpe and Margaret free to devote their time to the school. A strange school it was; there were no hard and fast rules; no one was compelled or commanded, but he who denies that love has power to rule denies because he has not love in his heart and is a stranger to its transfiguring power. It was, perhaps, more of a community of interest than a well-regulated school, but its influence was unmistakable.

Little children were amused and instructed and taught to be kind to each other. There were classes at regular hours that were given instruction from the standard text-books. Boys and girls who had never been to school and who were ashamed to go to Edgerly now, came here to learn to read and write. Girls brought their sewing and were given instruction in the art of cutting and making garments. Housewives were encouraged to come in and learn to cook. Daily it was impressed upon Mrs. Thorpe's mind that the harvest was ripe but the laborers were few. She did each day all that the limit of her strength allowed, but she carried no burdens and permitted herself no load of care. The work was hers, her heart and soul were in it; it strengthened her and put heart and zest into her life.

In the evening after her day's work was done she often spent an hour with Jamie, teaching and amusing him. She felt strangely drawn to the unfortunate child, and often talked to him about her work and related to him any pleasing incident that occurred during the day.

The boy had never attempted to walk, had never stood upon his feet. Dr. Eldrige Jr. had taken a special interest in him and had done much toward removing his physical deformity and freeing him from pain. He still had hopes that continued treatment would enable him to walk, but all his efforts to get him on his feet had so far proved futile.

Mrs. Thorpe was sitting in the gloaming one evening talking to the boy. He sat in his invalid's chair facing a flaming, fire-like cloud, the trailing garment of the setting sun.

"Please sing for me to-night, Mrs. Thorpe," he said. "I love to hear you sing while I sit here and watch the glory cloud fade out of the sky."